Two Tales Too Many- A Series of Short Stories
by Wolf the swordsman
Summary: Being sent to Essoes where Jon fights in the pits killing. There he meets the queen.
1. Chapter 1

Two Tales too Many- A series of Short Stories

First story- DaenerysxJon.

The sky was darker with the snow whirling around Jon snow's eyes. Betrayed. There was no use to deny that. The turncoats stood around him with dirks in hand, their eyes pierce their lord commander. Once a man they took orders from no longer, their knives near his body. Jon stood his right leg resting a few inches back behind his left ready for death. Mentally he knew it was imminent.

Ser Alliser stood forward no dirk in hand a frown upon his face. "No, we won't kill you. I have a much more, pleasant solution for our lord commander." He said in a mocking tone with a smirk resting on his face.

Jon was brought across the narrow sea not by hi own will but in chains. Tossed, sold to a master and into the fighting pits. There he found only death, killing men before him as death became constant. More and more in the pits death occurred, yet he won every match. Every and each battle brought a foe from all of Westeros or Essos. Men he under no circumstances knew the fighting styles of, until now. In these stadiums his skills were not matched by any. The name was becoming know all throughout Essos. The bastard of Weteroes, who fought and won in numerous contests. With this feat he was brought to Meereen the grand city where he was to fight before the queen.

In the dank chamber, lit only by the sunlight that filtered through bars high overhead. Deep In the cell Jon waited for the sound of the horn that would sound. The horn that meant a fight and death no matter how anyone put it. The sword rested in his hand, his only possession his weapon, his friend, prepared for a fight. Whenever in battle he thought of the men who betrayed him. Anger filled his veins with a passion consuming and drowning in his own decay he had yet to know. In light leather amour he waited for his fate, deep in thought.

Beside him his only friend sat, named Snaky a slender man who slipped from any blade. An older man whom always gently spoke, a slave who fought in supplementary battles than he knew any man to this day. A slave like him desperate to remain alive in the pits. A friend was not common and on several occasions Jon kept the man from death. Merely for death to attempt catch himself several times. They sat heavily on the cold wooden bench. Some of the other men were raucous after a victory, happy to be alive. Some he knew cherished the feeling of the kill, the proof of their prowess. Jon felt only emptiness. And he and another were never close as him and Snaky, no two fighters became close. All know that if they live long enough they will face each other in the arena. He and Snaky had been in the same training class, death was a reminder of how capricious the fate of a fighter can be. But there was more. He knew he should be the one being dragged to the graves on more than one occasion. When the surge of battle would pass, he remembered the look of a face as the signal to fight was given, the slight curl of lips, the light in the eyes of a man who was to die.

Men fought not for victory, but for freedom. It's difficult to throw a fight and attain a clean, honorable death in a way that doesn't end with both fighters pained. Jon kept moving on, every competition another to win and nothing else. His thoughts were broken once the slaver came into the cell. The man whom bought Jon for several coin.

A tall man entered, his hair piled high in the tight curls of a patrician. He said nothing, his mouth and nose were covered with the hem of his shimmering saffron wrap, but his eyes made clear his authority. Jon had seen so much silk before, only slavers and small kerchiefs that came fluttering down from the upper tiers when rich men and woman lost them in their excitement. Jon knew few men in the pits to be valuable to their slavers. More so after victory, but the worth of the silk he wore was many times the price of his own life.

"Ready my boy, you will make a rich man out of me." The rich slaver said with a bright smile. The sundry fights Jon partook had brought the slaver coin, beyond his dreams and ended with Jon as his personal favorite.

With a nod Jon stood, departing the cells and towards the landing, foremost out into the pits. The slaver remained beside him down the hall, on either side more cells filled with slaves. "Be sure you raise your weapon for the queen. Do not make me a fool. And a decent show is undisputable for all. But particularly the queen… you discern. And last do not die." The slaver said clearly as he slapped Jon on the back and went. Jon did not need to be told as the former weeks were constant. Trying to avoid death was an endless task as his next breath.

Further the sunlight glimpsed through the dark wooden gates that lead out into the massive arena. Men about him waited with different weapons. Covered in different color amour some wore heavy sharp steel while others only a tunic. All stirred their bodies some chanting, some nervously shaking. Although all carried some weapon. The glimpse of swords filled his eyes as countless couldn't wait for death. The sun was demise above, the doors only a few meters from him. From life to death, it was permanently the end for so many.

A larger warrior with a spiked helmet that covered his face came up beside to Jon. the large man looked over Jon. He knew the fighter beside him, the bastard of Westeros was a champion who fought in many pits and won.

"You," he stated. Jon considered, finding the gladiator almost eight feet tall. "You are nothing Bastard. A man in the pits are just like any other, and they are not my problem they are weak and will die as you will soon enough." The man before him stated with a smile, standing beside him. Jon paid the man no mind, men would spout such things oft.

The horn blew, loud blistering, deafening all else and without word they moved. The heavy clunks and clangs rang his ears, men for the virtue of death. Perhaps to death no one thought of demise before them when it was likely. It wouldn't happen to them but everyone else.

The gates flew open, men in heavy amour yelled commands to the fighters. Jon moved in tandem with the rest, a sword remained in his hand. Down the large hall screams and chants ran from many, as cheers from the arena reached him. Further and further until ascending from the gates into the large stadium. Entering the arena his adrenaline started pumping at the sound of the cheers. The sky had a purple quality as the sun shined bright. Numerous torches lit the exquisite architecture. Greeted to the bright blinding sun and loud blistering screams from the many, watching death. Staring at the crowd numerous chanting, few even knew his name chanting the bastard. The herald announced the competitors once they were in the stadium to thunderous cheers and applause. Even though this was the largest arena in the city of Meereen it was still packed to capacity with people paying no small amount of coin to attend.

Meereen was famous throughout the lands for its gladiatorial games. The city was far the largest Jon visited, yet he saw little of the city. Only the lowest slums on his journey to the arena. Decades ago, it was primarily slaves and convicts who competed, but now fame and fortune could be found for any whom wished. Jon found that here, having witnessed the names written down on the walls leading to the arena. Names of hundreds who fought and died, slaves whom found glory.

In the blistering sands Jon hated the heat, foreign, the north was always his friend. The cold became a part of him as much as his family and he missed the comfort of the snow. Further apart the men spread a few meters and turned towards the queen weapon in hand. Raising his sword up for the queen in the balcony. With his hand held high his stance waiting for the battle to begin. Legs spread apart, he stood in the sand prepared, the sun running down his face. All waited for whom he would kill.

Gazing over on the balcony he saw the queen sitting upon a cushion, her beauty had a classic quality. Her hair cascaded to her shoulders in waves permeated her sliver, blonde locks giving a striking effect. Her skin was a pale and her bright violet eyes completed a sensational portrait of a woman that any man would desire. Her white silk gown hugged her curves, that Jon not dare look away. Several had spoken her name, Daenerys mother of dragons, breaker of chains. A conquer whom fought for her people and loved them the same. She was a woman to be admired and the last known Targaryen. Jon knew much about Targaryen's from his books when he was just a child. Yet never believed in his life to see a Targaryen in person. The beauty of the queen was not matched by any whom he had perceived. If he would die, he hoped it was her he saw last.


	2. Chapter 2

The horn blew, loud enough for his ears to ring, loud of a roar from a dragon. The cheers sounded for death and slaughter. In time Jon moved forward, the men surrounding him followed suit. Each and every man knew death was before him and the escape was unlikely. Meeting another gladiator with an axe standing with a few inches above him. The man with a dark helm carried his body forward with a blood yell bringing down an axe with all weight swung forward. The young man leapt and brought his blade up just in time to defer the man's second blow with his axe. Jon moved with amazing quickness to bury his second, hidden blade into the man's belly. The man's eyes became hollow staring at Jon, he died with a grunt and fell sideways into the deep sand... Jon wasted no time to wait but move. Every man was another that stood before him, he couldn't think any other way. Behind him a roar filled his ears, it was common. Ducking just in time he heard the sound of a foul mace swinging just above his head. One second to late he would have it stuck him in the neck. The man rocked it again, swinging it around his head trying to crash against Jon's chest. Almost digging into his skin, the sound menacing as it swung near his body, the spikes could kill him in an instant. Moving away from the single swift attack the mace landing in the sand with a loud and importantly thud, the man hunched down without defensive, leaning back he pressed forward his right arm slashed his belly, the blade finding his flesh and stomach, blood spraying on the ground, the man yelling as he staggered. Turing the blade created a large gash and pulling it forth the man still stood brining his mace downwards, Jon stepped away, the mace landed in the dirt with a thud leaving him to slash across his chest. An open wound an inch wide, open to the elements, the man stumbling back and eventually down on the ground leaving him on the ground to die. The crowd yelled and cheered around him, the flesh slicing around him was a sound he distinguished so well. Jon fought parrying, striking others around him others followed suit. Behind him two fought the same as in front, blood ran down on the sand rapidly, as bodies began to litter the floor. Their bodies withering on the sand for the glory of Mereen.

Their was no time for contemplation of his moment or thoughts, it was only muscle memory that ran his body, only what stood before him in the moment. In that very instant between the matter of seconds of life and death. When one wrong, simple move meant he was under the sand and blood ridden.

Gladiators were fifty paces around him, he heard the unwelcome sound of men swords being sheathed in bodies. The sounds whistled over him constantly and he heard cries of pain behind him as they reached their targets. Some were yelling obscenities. Blood running into the sand. Across the arena a man stood as he drove his axe down, on the either another cut an arm clean. Nine men fell mortally wounded together, like they all knew to fall at the same moment. Their light armor was of little use at this short range with axes or other weapons. The one surviving archer fired blindly into a thicket, missing an warrior by a few inches.

All the while Jon struck one man directly in the heart and was certain that he'd killed him. The other gladiators, being well trained, did exactly what they should do. They ran directly toward the source of the enemies. Running away would simply allow another gladiator to cut them in half. The only chance they had was to get near for them to use their swords. Another man to Jon's right held his sword high and screamed loudly. Jon knew from his training that this was a common tactic to frighten an enemy. The sun blared, blood ran.

Stepping forward and slightly away from the screaming soldier he nearly cut him in half with a single powerful stroke of his sword. The sword cut through the light leather armor like it wasn't there.

He dashed through the line, taking the two men he passed between, completely by surprise. It was such a foolish thing to do that he himself didn't understand what possessed him to do it. It was a miracle that he wasn't killed on the spot. Bummed

The entire period of death, up in the stands Dany sat in her soft chair watching with disaffection as many killed the other. Hard yells floated towards her, unable to drown their voices. At times she avoided the blood of the innocence that spilled constantly. Warriors were crying out in shock and agony as they were hit rattling her mind. Eyes with a haze of dissatisfaction looked, among the chaos finding a man screaming with guts covering his stomach. Looking away her eyes found the floor. Giving herself time the man became quiet. Gazing back she kept her eyes on them then found a young man, her eyes regarded him in his light armor. His movements went with a flurry, that of unlike the others he spun and struck his enemy with his sword. Her eyes traced his body finding his broad shoulders with his movements through the battle, never once gaining the chance to be hit by his enemies. A mist it seemed that disappeared. It was clear he was the youngest among the men, sweat ran down his exposed chest. Her eyes kept with him unlike some of the others who took their time to kill the young man would only lay his sword in the men's major arteries killing them instantly. Dany leaned close to Grey-Worm without word leaned in close.

"What is his name?" she asked over the cheers indicating the young man. Grey-Worm followed her eyesight to see the young man, glimpsed in the sun.

"He is called the bastard of westores, your grace." Grey-Worm told. Westores, she knew so few from the home she never saw. A home she desperately wanted to see. Her eyes came back to him and watched, as Jon blocked another attack with his weapon thrashing it hard against the man's face leaving a large gash in his head with blood drooling from his mouth, causing him to fall. Many fell at the beginning and others in the later that followed as well. Jon moved away striking another with his fist without eyesight on another behind him. All the while the blood lust took him where he needed he completely be unable to remember about his friend. Looking back he searched for his friend, eyes gazed the arena of bodies. He felt time slow as eyes narrowed and found him. The old man was against the ground blood running from his mouth. Unlike himself without a smile, a large laceration was wide on his chest, his skinny body laid. His face laid against the sand, he lost track of him as bronze gladiator stepped over the old man striking his sword down his throat. The blood sprayed the bronze man as grinned widely enjoying this, his eyes bright and with a fire. The blood seeped from his gapping throat. The bronze man treaded over the man kicking him in the face smiling bight. Dany watched as the large gladiator kicked the dead man in the face again.

Jon knew his destination. The sword in his hand became tight as his eyes felt to deepen with his objective. The fight was longer and gruesome than any Jon fought before, but there was only one man he went for. For minutes he clashed his way to him, until they were near, he felt blood boil his eyes a fiery rage. The large warrior lagged drowning the men around him with his trident. A few paces from him Jon watched as he brought his weapon up and with a smile brought his body back than with his right hand lunged forward and threw the trident.

Next thing he knew Jon felt something strike him in the head but was somehow still standing. Still standing he lost sense but fought on. The arena a blur of faces as they two met in a battle of clangs and adrenaline. Rolling on the sand as the enemy held a long sword aimed to behead him. Every turn the enemy weapon found his.

The large man twisted and lost his footing leaving Jon to slash at his leg. Unable to keep himself up he dropped on his knees, no one at his feet. He looked up at Jon, blood running down his lip. Jon looked down on him, his eyes blinking probably believing death was before him. Harsh chanting echoed beneath the wide bronze brim of the Secutor's helmet Jon wore. He looked through the grating of his visor, his face as much a prisoner of the helm as he was to the lusts of the crowd. Nothing in this arena made sense anymore, he lost it, a burden for months now. His vision swam with fluttering tunics and pumping fists. He felt more unlike himself here, and heard the roar of thousands of throats. Steam rose from his sweat and blood-begrimed chest. The sweat was his; the blood was not.

The weight of the broken shafted three-tined trident dangled from where a single tine pierced his upper visor, inches from his left eye. He knew now how close he had come to being the one on his back in the sand at the mercy of the crowd. He shifted his foot on the chest of the man.

As he waited for the queen decree, he saluted the crowd with his short, broad sword. Blood from his vanquished foe, dripped from the disk- shaped pommel of his weapon. He looked down upon the writhing form of the large man. Jon gazed the arena and found his friend his only friend dead. In his mind Jon pleaded with the crowd for no mercy. He had fought well, but he knew his last slash had bitten deep into the back of the man's thigh. The Large gladiator could never wield the trident and net again, and had no use, and thus no mercy, for a hamstrung Retarius.

For a moment the shouting died to a hiss, as the queen seemed to ponder the wishes of the crowd. A beautiful woman, the queen sat, shifting with a flourish and almost losing her laurel wreath in the process. The explosion of noise deafened Jon as the crowd reacted to the queen's verdict. Death. Jon was glad that the sweat-slick giant raised his chin without a struggle, gladder still that he kept his eyes closed. Those eyes would have haunted him for the rest of his days. Thus, in the same manner they slaughter the oxen on festive days, everyone wanted him to do it, him most of all, Jon slaughtered a man. Blood seeped from a torn throat for the glory of Mereen. Then rising and offering the queen and the crowd the expected salute.

Jon dropped his sword and gazed of his fallen foe. "We have a champion!" The voice rang among all of the arena. The crowd roared as Dany clapped. She smiled as she watched the young man. She admired the way he fought in the pit. Jon bowed to the crowd not basking in the clapping he was receiving, then he met the queen's eyes as they were on him. He felt his face burn under her eyesight. Leaning forward he bowed for her.

Dany turned to the Grey-Worm. "I think I will meet him." Dany told. He simply nodded.

Jon crossed the bloody sand on quivering legs and returned to his cell. He told himself his muscles wobbled from the exertion of the fight. Back among the cell he stood. A slave-boy peeled off his sweat-soaked armor, first lifting the heavy bronze helmet from his head, the trident left jutting obscenely from the visor as it was put aside. The armorers employed by his master and trainer, would see that the helm was repaired and burnished to shine like new for the next bout he fought. The slave, set the task of caring for his needs, scrambled around him, undoing the laces his armor and loosening the leather. The boy peeled the steel-banded sleeve off his right arm and shoulder. Came away with it where it had been cinched across his ribs. Jon impatiently kicked off the metal greave covering his left shin, then told the boy to leave as he dropped the thick leather belt and untied his rough woolen loincloth. The boy staggered under the weight of the armor as he hurried to collect it and exit the chamber.

Alone Jon rose slowly, picking up the bowl of water and the sigil left by the boy. He frowned as he pondered this, his last performance of the day. All of the gladiators were required to rub this on them after battle. He would slather his body in the water, then scrape the mixed oil, sweat and blood off with the strigil. Whilst cleaning himself the doors open. But before he himself could do this his master entered the room breaking his consternation.

"Gladiator, I have bought the products of your bout today… You did well and it seems you are to be rewarded. You are headed to meet the queen, she wishes to have you brought to her in person." He said this causing Jon to look confused. "I can't have you dirty for today, can't have you dirty indeed."

"The queen wishes to see me?" Jon asked bewildered. The master quickly slapped him against the face, leaving a red print that stung.

"Silence! You do not speak." He spoke malicious in tone. Pressing his hands to his shirt his straightened himself.

"Yes." Unsure of how to address a lady of her station, he reverted to type: slave to master.

"Good, you will present yourself to her willing and will be washed clean. My slaves are to be oiled and stridulated." The master stated.

In the deep cells Jon stood, legs apart, arms raised parallel to his shoulders, as the slaves put aside the crude olive oil he had been about to use. Now in the hands of others, the decanted rich honey-colored oil into two small bowls. Jon had never known shame as being naked before his master, a man who is willing to expose his blood and viscera upon the sand has no qualms displaying something as impersonal as his genitals. As his master eyes washed over him he felt his face tear to anger. His master went around him, circling him as if he was a dog checking his body over. He had known what it felt to do this for some time, still every second was madding as he had to remain motionless.

"Good. You will only speak when spoken to. You will not grace her with any folly language." Jon nodded when needed, keeping his face up and impassive. "You are to keep your back straight, and do not slur your words." The master rounded about him again taking his time to stare. The men finished cleaning the slave. "Done? Give him some spice and fresh clothes. You cannot be filth." His opened stare assessed his body, as he would search the physique of an opponent just before a strike, coolly judging strength and weakness. Whilst he stood thoughts of far ran hard. Had Jon been with his brother instead of a slave he would still not have been here but under the dirt. The life of a gladiator had marred his mind further. 

They ascended the city in the rich district. It was a senseless maze of soaring towers and, all hewn and raised. Rather to say, it had a sense and an disorder, but its sense was beyond human sense, it's seeming beyond disorder. Under the light of day, the glint of the moon off of the blade edges of building, subdued by the shadows of the seeming disorganized and uneven buildings, making the whole city look like a fever dream. Under the moon, it seemed almost to disappear, save for the occasional twinkling outlines of odd angles and trapezoidal backgrounds outlining brutish, misshapen bumps of deeper darkness. The city's dwellers, shark-toothed, with no pretenses of humanity, yet beautiful thronged streets under the glint even as they'd moved under the moon; they could all see like cats in the dark, and few lanterns burned.

This city was unlike that of the north with buildings touching the sky and meeting the clouds. Voices he had not heard before mixed with a smell that ensnared his senses. Mixed together he felt this city was alive but he was it's slave. To be used as it wished and nothing would change it now.

Then the pyramid came into view he guessed it consumed all else around it tall as it towered over the tallest and mightiest of those around it. Reaching the entrance Jon saw the unsullied standing on either side of the door. Before entering they blocked the path with their spears. The two came to a hefty halt meeting two unsullied guards in their armor, a spear in hand, emotionless.

"Your queen wishes my appearance." The master demanded as he straightened himself.

"Not you. Only Him." The master looked back and forth at his slave the resolution to much to take.

"He is my slave." The master stated and this did not deter the unsullied.

"Only him." The Unsullied stated without hesitation.

His master grunted leaning close to Jon's ear for no one else to hear. "Do not make a fool of me. Do as she wishes." Jon nodded as the unsullied moved from the door and lead him away from the man, hearing him grunt loudly. Without a moment to gaze the large throne room, brought to the side of the room where stairs seemed to be an endless throng. A dozen steps into the pyramid in the shade of a broad oak hall. Walls of all colors and shapes lay in before him. The nuisance noise that had been buzzing around them in the glade and alleys seemed to disappear altogether, perhaps held back. The unsullied led him further up the great pyramid the torches every few meters in the allure of the pyramid as the stone filled his eyes. He went through the pyramid, guards on either side of him for minutes as they never moved an inch or said a word to him. Yet they moved, it went on forever as the steps continued.

Until they stopped resting before a large door as two unsullied opened a door without question. They passed through the doors into the beautiful and tranquil room. The curtain held back, let in the sunlight as the room smelled with a certain aroma Jon couldn't place. To the opposite side of the room rested a small table with gold trim, diverse kinds of wines sat as far from the arbor, and a few oak chairs rested among the wall. Inside he found gold trim around the walls around the pillows and furniture. All the while the unsullied stood still beside him. They rarely spoke.

"Wait in here." The unsullied said emotionless. With nothing more to say they left him alone. With nothing he stood alone. Unknown what to do Jon did not dare to touch the wine as the unsullied stood close. After several minutes of boredom staring at the floor, a pair of doors opposite him opened and inside the queen came. Up close her skin was unblemished, hair was beautiful flowed to her shoulders in waves, locks her beauty was far greater than any rumor. Her unblemished skin glowed bright and her bright violet eyes sucked in his sight. Her white silk gown hugged her far greater curves, her stomach exposed to him. The woman shook her head, fluttering open her eyes at him. She looked at him, herself again, her expression unreadable. He thought briefly about her beauty. Considered his word choice. Any word may be a damper.

 **Excuse me for my language. But FUCK that episode was awesome. Had to say it… Sorry. More Dany on a dragon please.**


	3. Chapter 3

Moonlight dipped bright in the room. Through the windows, cascading over the room, filled with Jon and Dany. The breeze washed over them, providing the room with a bright aroma as the queen stood with a smile. Queen Daenerys Targaryen, the dragon queen, the queen of Meereen stood in her magnificent wealth. Wearing her bright gown that seemed to swallow the darkness around her and glowed with a fulfillment. The beauty shined from her as she smiled. It was something otherworldly to Jon. Utmost he lost himself in her beauty. "It's more than a pleasure to finally meet you, your grace. How may I service you?" Jon asked with no thought and lowered his upper half with a bow, kissing the ground.

The woman only smiled winsomely. Slowly, wafted toward him with an elegance. Each footstep as if she was on air itself and she could float. She rested only a meter from him, staring at the bastard with a smile.

"You can begin, by standing up. You need not bow to me." She declared with an ease. Every word she spoke was a delight to the ears. A song sung so magnificently, that he could hardly believe it was real.

"If it pleases, your grace." Without thinking, indeed without a single thought in his head, Jon stood. Looking her over, she looked strong and majestic, a true queen. He approached her and couldn't help but bow again at the waist respectfully.

Once in his life he felt truly out of place. He owed the woman no allegiance, but he did owe respect to her.

"Stand, you need not bow." she repeated with a smile. He returned it with a brighten beam.

"Excuse me, your grace. I must confess, I never had the grace to be in the presence of a queen as stunning as you. Your beauty is beyond what many have spoken. Sure they say many splendors, but only my eyes tell me the truth." He never spoke to her unless formal. Under his gaze she felt her cheeks redden.

"You believe me to be beautiful?" She asked with a cheeky grin.

"More so than any woman before my eyes." He told his eyes level to her. Unknown to him, he was saying this to his own blood. Yet neither knew.

"Well, thank you. You do me a great pleasure, for your compliment."

"Tell me. I know so little of the champion in the pits. Tell me your name." it was true, their was really nothing known of this bastard. Only that he was a bastard.

"Jon snow, your grace." He answered.

"Snow." The name used for bastard of the north. She smiled never being fond of cold weather. "Jon, I have never witnessed a fighter such as yourself. At times you would be at two places. You did well in the pits."

"Thank you, but I take no pleasure in the battles, your grace. I did what I must. Every fight is a life or death situation." She nodded respectfully as she travelled over to the small table that rested in the center of the room. With two chairs, each carried soft cushions upon it.

"I see, I'm pleased to see you're still alive then…" He smiled with a nod. "Days as a queen can be tiresome. I do not wish to be alone, come and join me. Tell me of yourself." Jon obeyed keeping his back straight and followed the queen over to the table. All manner of food and drink waited on the white marble table. "Will you share the wine with me? I have only the best from Meereen. Not a drop of the sour filth."

"Of course, nothing would please me more." He declared. Dany agreed to his well manners watching him with a close eye, tracing his body. She wondered what this young man looked like without his clothes. The thought was better than most in recent months.

"Would you mind pouring it?" She asked with a seductive tone. Jon proceed with the wine and poured the liquid into the cups. With the wine at the brim, Jon passed the cup to Dany. With her arm extended she grabbed hold of the cup, her fingers on purpose resting on his. At that moment his eyes met hers, but unlike before their was a haze in them. A haze of lust he had never seen. Hands still inactive on the other, she felt warm and soft, something he had missed.

"Thank you, Jon." Finally she let go and he proceed to pour himself a drink, trying not to ponder of how beautiful she is.

She smiled sitting back, getting comfortable as Jon followed. Dany took a carful sip, inspecting the bastard as he assembled, staring at the alcohol. "Go ahead. Drink it." She told. Jon tipped back the cup and took one gulp, than another and another until in a moment the wine was dry.

She watched amazed as he gulped down the drink. "You have quite the thirst."

"It has been more than a year since I had the delight to taste wine."

"I'm glad to have you back with it then." The pair shared a smile. With another sip Dany enjoyed this bastard.

She wished to know more. "You come from Westeros, correct?" Jon nodded. "That is the endpoint I try desperately to reach. One day I will grasp my destination and reclaim my throne." Jon knew the rumors as he nodded. Likewise he knew how much the realms distained the dragon queen.

"It will be a difficult path, you will set down. I'm sorry to say." He declared as the images of armies stood, thousands of men not pleased with some foreign invader.

"I know this. That is why, I am building an army for that purpose, an army or realm cannot withstand. They will be unable to win a battle if that is there choice." She told with a determination. Jon was skeptical, he knew the armies of his home.

"One army won't be enough, your grace. One army of men will do nothing to the seven kingdoms. They will not come to any open arms. Every man and woman will fear you. They will not know some foreign queen, but be frightened and when that occurs, every man and woman will fight you with a purpose to defeat you. Some will use every drop of life to contest you."

Dany could only smile, she knew. "That's why, I have my dragons. No one will be able to contest them." She told him. Jon nodded, dragons were no doubt to outdo any army that would decide to face the queen.

"It's true. If that's the case, than they will not be able to face your dragons." Jon had to arg

"Enough of my armies. I wish to know how a handsome warrior came to be known by so many. They call you, the bastard?" she asked.

"Yes. I did not choose it. I had nothing to do with it but I assume it's easy to remember. I would have selected something better." Always he was gentle and courteous and continuously brought a smile to her lips, she wished to hear more of him.

"They seem to enjoy your bout. Countless come. As far from the free cities, just to see you."

"It's their choice. If it was mine, I would never watch. Never witness one kill or the screaming death of innocence." Dany nodded agreeing with what he said.

"True. So then how does a man from Westeros have all this come to be? A man free forced into slavery. Forced to kill?" She asked keen to know.

Images of Ser Allister ran in his mind. "I was deceived, by my own brothers no less." He explained with fury stained in his words.

"Your bothers?" She asked sitting forward, never losing her wealth.

"Not my brothers by blood, but honor. I took a vow, of the watch. I come from the wall." He explained as Dany took another sip.

"I know little about this place. Enlighten your queen."

"It would bore you. And I can't desire to bore a queen, such as beautiful and gorgeous as yourself." He expressed full heartedly to a smile from her.

"I have time, believe me. I do not want to be alone on this wonderful evening. So, voice me a tale of yourself. A tale of the mysterious Jon snow who fell in my lap." Jon smiled and sat forward. He went and told all of which he saw, and what was done on the wall. The death. Misery. When the cold was oppressive and the days he lost sleep to only find a man dead. Days of bloodshed remained from the conservation. Until the night when the stars were far spread and he was sent into slavery. That night was forever burned into his subconscious. Dany sat surprised by the stories he told.

"You have received the sharp end of the sword. Your men were turncoats, but because of this you find yourself here. Not as a bastard but a warrior who has proved himself with a weapon. A warrior who can contest any man no matter their forte and arise alive. A warrior whom finds himself in my lap, a place he should remain." Jon gazed over her.

"Jon snow I have a proposition. A proposition I believe you cannot refute." Dany stood before the young man, standing directly before him. With the dark sky behind her. Silver hair a glow that could not go a miss from his eyes. She was, and is all he wanted to see. "I ask you, do you wish to remain a slave? To toil yourself away, every night alone, every day fighting for life. A life that could achieve so much more. If so, I could use a sword like yours. You could rid yourself of this slavery and be part of my guard." Danerys declared.

She wanted this young man for more than one reason. Jon felt his hands tremble and his eyes widen. Sweat ran down his neck, every drop a sizzling feeling as the moon glared into his eyes. Mind was a frenzy as the words remind in his mind. Free. Putting slavery behind and live a free man finally. It was an easy answer. He plunged to a knee before her, his eyes met her as he knelt before his queen. Dany gazed down at him meeting his dashing eyes.

"I will, my queen. It would be an honor by my sword to protect you from any harm." He said as quickly as possible. Dany smiled brightly.


	4. Chapter 4

The Next Day-

Jon opened his eyes to the beyond bright, seething sun. The searing warmth that twisted his body was not from the scorch of the sun, but a feeling he did not recognize for more than a year. Something deep that gives him a choice. Free will. And with it, the fear of drowning with death gone, replaced with joy. The relief and glee made him want to yell. Finally free from of the days deep in the pits and nights in rot and blood. Thick blood running down and masking himself. No more, ultimately able to have a say and finally live.

The previous night passed in what seemed to be moments. Finding sleep quicker than any in the past several years. Sitting up he took a look around still amazed at what he saw.

The room he was given was anything that he recognized. Resting near the top of the pyramid and a certain glow and gracious space. With a balcony and a clear outlook of the city, the view a spectacle. Seeing as far as the harbor, ships coming and going.

Around the room, white and gold trim furniture was scattered throughout, with enough space for three previous bedrooms. Not only enough room for twenty men but with a warm breeze against his humid body. Something to sooth.

But nothing could compare to the fluffy bed he had slept on. Always associated to the sticks and snow with an eternally dread they carried since the watch.

Gaining his composure the sound of a bang sounded at his door. With a groggy mind he stood, stumbling forward.

"Yes?" Jon asked, rubbing his eyes.

"May I enter?" Someone unfamiliar asked, their voice rigid.

"Yes." The door creaked open to an older man with a white beard in heavy set armor. The armor not ostentatious but practical.

The old man looked over the young man and found him half asleep. "Did I catch you at a bad time?" He asked seeing the disheveled young man.

"No, no. Just never slept for so long. Need to get my bearings." The knight knew this well, specifically after a battle.

"That happens, and after what I've heard, you needed it…"

"Yeah, I guess so."

"Excuse me, I am Ser Barristan Selmy" Jon knew that name better than most. Hearing story's from his family and reading tales of him as well as Ser Arthur Dyane and the many knights of the kingsguard.

"Ser of the kingsguard?" Jon asked confused to see him here of all places.

"No longer. Now of the queensguard, and proud of it."

"You knew my father."

He nodded. "I met him a sparse number of times. And I can say that he was honorable as many say. Mayhaps even more… I'm sorry for what happened." Now was not the time.

"What brought you across the narrow sea? Can't say I seen many knights from westeroes."

"Nothing, not my choice. But the boy king." Nothing else needed said.

"I see, he has ruined more lives than he could ever fathom."

"I don't think he would care… But back on point, our queen has sent me with a task. She wishes to speak to you directly but she has many her obligations. So she has given me the task to train with you. See what you can do before a battle."

Jon nodded. "Nothing would be better."

"Then, no time to waste." With no further instruction Jon grabbed what was needed and left with the kingsguard. Down the halls the man's armor sounded all the way.

"This place is remarkable. Must have taken them ages to build it."

"Aye. Can't say I know myself. Do my duties and that's all." They reached a room double the size of the hall in Winterfell. Massive in size with bright open windows and numerous axes, swords and spears lining the walls. "We have a number of weapons as you can see. The finest in Meereen. Handpicked by me, can't have a bad blade in combat… Go on, you can choose one." Jon lined the wall grabbed a blunt blade.

"Fancy with a sword?"

"Never had a go with an axe or mace."

"Me neither, only in those desperate times. When my enemy is bearing down on me and i need something in my hand." Jon knew that all to well, finding whatever he could to strike his opponent when needed.

The man grabbed the hilt of his weapon, puling the weapon from his sheath. "Let's see what you can do." Jon closed the distance and they stood in silence.

In no time it was the queensguard to answer first with a flurry aimed for his head, but Jon parried this, than his stomach, another parry and finally his leg. Jon blocked the oncoming attacks with ease and answered with his own slashes. For the next few hours the queensguard tested the young combatant seeing what he could do. The room filled with the clangs of steel. The old man watched the quick flurries and respond accordingly.

After hours of this unknown to Jon the queen stood leaning against the door. With a small smile watching her new addition. Jon's flurries were easy to flow. For minutes she watched as the two moved back and forth until the young man finally bested his opponent.

Before she could greet the young man grey-worm bowed before her. "Your grace, you are needed."

"What is it?"

'The master from last night. He has come looking, like you said." Dany scoffed.

"Right. I will deal with him accordingly. The quicker I get this over with, the better."

The throne room-

Inside the substantial room several unsullied stood at the doors and stairs, while only one master in the center. The unsullied erected themselves before the master, not leasing their eyes fall from him. After an hour they needed to retain a vigilance and their eyes firmly on the man.

"You will wait… If I must tell you once more, you will leave." The unsullied had to repeat for the third and hopefully last time.

"You kept me here long enough. I am not a man to have delayed. Places to be, fighters to train and whip."

"You will wait." The unsullied repeated, causing the master to grow livid as he had enough.

"Is that all you know to say? Damn unic." To the master's annoyance he finally saw the queen arrive into the room after an hour with nothing amiss.

Dany sat at the top of the stairs without so much as a word articulated. Without a care to grace herself. The master flurried in motion, his body shaking with resentment in his bones. Taking a full step forward he lost his place and procedures before a queen, not waiting a second for her to respond.

"Where is he? I sent him here last night and I hear nothing in return. You asked for him and I deliver. But do not test my patience. I grow weary."

The queen ignored him and took a moment. "Are you so above formalities that you will not bow?" The master ignored the question and did not bother.

"Where is he? I have no time for your tricks." He declared.

"What tricks? And whom do you speak of? There are plenty here."

The man scoffed. "Don't be coy with me, queen. You know who. I will not be made a fool for your enjoyment. I am not like these others with no deference. Me on the other hand, will have respect!" The man demanded only to receive none.

The queen retained her face emotionless, not a sight of emotion. "Those who ask for respect, receive none." The master fuming. "Tell me, I will need you to enlighten me. Who?" the man stood tall feeling the unsullied eyes searing into the back of his head. He felt naked here.

"My slave." He affirmed with a confidence.

"There is no slave here."

"I know he is here, you can't deceive me."

"He is a slave no longer, and he is not yours. Jon is a free man, to do as he pleases. You and your master's will never see, touch or talk to him again." She declared to him, her eyes with intensity never amiss from his.

The master felt the anger coil up his skin, his fists clenched, teeth gritting. No one not ever removed a slave from his service. No one came against the master's. All but except for her. "You can't make that choice!"

His words unfazed her. Nothing but utters in the air. "Do not tell me what I can, and cannot do. I do not believe I need to tell you, I am your queen… He is free, and no longer in your grasp. You will accept this leave and with no one… Do you understand?" She asked leaning forward.

The master sensed that irritation and distress framing himself. "You will give him back!" the master proceeded a few steps, advancing. The unsullied took a step of their own. A spear in hand, they rested the point against the master's face. The piercing point inactive not an inch from the master's eyelid.

At in instant he came to a halt, sweat lining his concerned face, Identifying death close on him. His wealth meant nothing now. All of his immune power meant nothing but spit.

"Do not test me! You will leave, and under no circumstances catch a glance of him again… If you disobey, their will be consequences… It has been to long since my dragons have tasted a meal… Do I have to repeat myself?"

He grunted, feeling feeble here. "Yes."

"Then, I will say no more." With nothing else to add she stood but with one preceding look into his eyes. Her own never fading from his, never blinking, telling him his place, then she left the room.

The sound of her footsteps echoed as the master stood, never had he felt feebleness as he stood there.

"You can go." The unsullied stated to the unmoving man. Instead the master took another step forward toward the stairs leading to the queen. What he did not expect was a push causing the master to lose his footing and fall back onto the floor with a thud.

His clock ripped as he scrambled to compose himself in silence. Never had he felt such shame. "You have no idea what you have done! I am a respected noble and you are nothing but cockless boys!" these yells fell on nothing and no one.

"You will leave." The unsullied had to repeat himself proceeding he shoved the master again.

Dany left with unsullied at her rear and found her way back to the training area to find Jon still in a bout. Now with sweat lining his exposed body to her delight. She entered as the two men quickly took notice and bowed.

"You have done quite well." She told the young man.

"He is better than any I have trained."

"Good… Leave us." She told to the older knight whom left. Jon stood, alone.

"What is it your grace?" He asked.

"You will no longer have any problems with your slaver."

"What? What happened?"

"He came to take you back in chains. But your days as a slave are over, now and forever."

He felt the rush in his veins. "I am in your debt."

"You owe me nothing." She wrapped her hand on his shoulder. Jon stood before his queen with a smile. A smile the two shared.


End file.
